


All That's Known

by womeninthesequel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Deaf Character, Deaf James Potter, F/M, First Meetings, Gen, Hogwarts Express, Hogwarts First Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23721871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/womeninthesequel/pseuds/womeninthesequel
Summary: Wizards view nearly everything as a problem for magic to fix. Other people might view him that way, but James has never felt broken. He doesn’t need to be wound like an old-fashion toy and programmed to do what everyone else does. (deaf!James)
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black & James Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & James Potter
Comments: 70
Kudos: 197





	All That's Known

**Author's Note:**

> Like many in the disability and disability activist community, I've been frustrated with the lack of disability representation at Hogwarts. Honestly, like many, I'm frustrated with the lack of disability representation in all media. This is my way of adding some needed representation with a character I already love so much. 
> 
> I always want to be learning and hope that you'll learn along with me.

“Mum.”

For the last few minutes, James has tried to smile indulgently. Being a bit spoiled - he can admit that much, at least - has its advantages.

It also, he’s finding, has its responsibilities. 

James is not quite old enough to squirm often under his mother’s coddling, but Platform 9 ¾ brings out a new side of him. Now, there are people to stare and whisper behind their hands. Plenty of them seem to be looking at him. They’re probably already gossiping about the rare appearance of a boy who, until now, rarely had to venture off of his parents’ carefully attended manor grounds.

Not that he’s completely without friends. James runs down to the village at the bottom of the hill and plays games with muggle children. He can’t tell them about his school and has to watch that nothing happens by accident, but that doesn’t matter. They can still play. They run and hide and help him get sufficiently dirty before he has to go home for the day.

September first has arrived, though, pulling him away from familiar childhood games and into the world that has only been stories so far. He’s been told a million things about the castle that will be his home tonight, but now he gets to journey there himself. 

His mum, he knows, has been simultaneously waiting for and dreading this day. Probably from the moment she found out there was going to be a baby Potter. 

The frequent reminders to pack and reassurances that anything he forgets can be sent are her ways of instilling responsibility and reminding him of their love at the same time.

His way of returning the favor is to let his mother fuss over him. She won’t have the chance once he gets on the train. It’s only a quarter until eleven, so he has time. 

James looks over his mother’s head to catch his father’s gaze. Fleamont’s eyes are swimming with both affection and sympathy, but he doesn’t make a move to help his son. James casts his father an exaggerated expression of annoyance, but Dad only comes close enough to ruffle his hair and give him a smile that makes the corners of his eyes wrinkle. 

“Mum…” he tries again, drawing it out and attempting to lean against the closest pillar like the effort of standing in front of her is too much.

She dismisses his dramatics with a well-practiced wave of her hand. To her credit, Euphemia Potter manages to fit a useless attempt at flattening his hair and adjusting the collar of his robes in between her non-stop flurry of hand movements.

Eat enough, study hard, make friends, write often, don’t get into too much trouble…

“I know,” he acknowledges, putting a hand on his mother’s shoulder. She looks up from checking the latch on his bag. “I’m okay, Mum.”

Euphemia’s expression softens, and she nods. 

The whistle blows in warning, but only two of the Potters heed its call. Euphemia glances at the train and turns back to her son, brushing back his hair to drop a kiss on his forehead. She shuffles out of the way, presumably so his father can pull him into a hug. 

Fleamont doesn’t let her escape and crushes them all together.

Pleased, though he won’t be bragging about this on the train, James takes in their familiar warmth and scents of wood and flowers. When they pull away too quickly, he straightens his shoulders and lifts his chin, silently vowing to be the confident and proud boy they raised. 

His mother puts a hand over her mouth, eyes shining, and leans into the arm his father drapes comfortingly over her shoulders. “I love you,” James bids. He steps onto the stairs by the train door, dragging his trunk behind him. 

With a final wave, he turns to face the anticipated adventure. 

He walks down the aisle, pausing to look through the frosted windows of each compartment for empty space. Finally, toward the end, one is clear, except for a bored-looking boy who stares out of the window. The seat by the window is free. 

James pulls the door open. After shoving his trunk inside, he shuts it behind him with a bang that gets the other boy’s attention. It makes him look away from the scene of parents wishing their children well.

The boy’s cool gray eyes are on him. “Sorry,” mumbles James. Closing the door must have been louder than he intended. He points to the empty seat by the window. “Free?”

The boy nods and doesn’t look away as James lifts his trunk and attempts to stow it in the overhead bin. It’s unwieldy, but he manages to get one side in and tries to shove it the rest of the way. When it threatens to knock him over, the other boy appears beside him and helps to tuck it away safely. 

James turns to face him and grins, moving his hand away from his mouth in thanks. 

“Yeah,” the boy replies, flicking his slightly too-long hair out of his eyes. He turns his face partly away from James. “Sirius Black, by the way.”

James’ forehead wrinkles in confusion. Heat creeps under his collar, but he scratches his wrist to look unaffected. “What?”

Sirius blinks and looks at him again. “I’m Sirius.”

“I’m kidding,” James answers. He smiles because he thinks he understands and hopes that he’s in on the joke. 

The other boy opens his mouth once in a short laugh and shakes his head. “It’s my name - Sirius.”

“Oh.” James lets out a hum of understanding. He points to himself and makes a few quick moves with his hand. “James Potter.”

Sirius looks from James’ hand to his face a few times, mirroring the look of confusion James sported only moments ago. He waves his hand meaninglessly. “What’s that?”

James’ hand stills at his side. “Signs,” he answers. Slowly, he lifts his hand to put a finger under his ear. He isn’t used to using so much simcom - simultaneous communication - where he’s signing and trying to talk at the same time. “I’m deaf.”

Although Sirius nods, his forehead stays drawn, like he still doesn’t understand. “You can’t hear?” he asks after a beat.

“No.” James shrugs indifferently, as if worry over Sirius’ opinion doesn’t weigh on him already. 

Potters aren’t afraid, though, James reminds himself. They’re brave and stare down their fears, daring them to try, like true Gryffindors - even if his mum was a Hufflepuff. They don’t let people walk over them because they’re different. They don’t think they need fixing because the rest of the world isn’t ready for them.

With all of the affirmations his parents repeated to him through the years repeating in his mind, James stands tall and faces Sirius’ potential judgement. 

“Okay.” Sirius pauses for a moment, adjusting to the information. James flexes his fingers a few times to keep them from shaking. “Should I -” Sirius starts, slowing down and widening his eyes like people do when they try to raise their voice. “Speak louder?”

“No, no,” James waves him away and shakes his head quickly. Shouting always makes him wince. “Clearly and normal volume. I lip-read,” he gestures to his mouth. “But prefer signs.”

Sirius nods again and flops into the seat across from where they stored the trunk. James sits across from him. He stays on the edge of his seat, not willing to decide how well this has gone yet. 

“Could you show me?”

James’ face lights up, but he hopes his voice sounds normal. “Sure.” He relaxes enough to feel the seat against his back.

Once he gets him to write it out on a spare bit of parchment, James starts with Sirius’ name. He picks it up quickly. They exchange some scribbled notes, but soon the quill is mostly forgotten. They pass pleasantries back and forth, making up shorthand from Sirius’ wildly inaccurate guesses about the signs for different words. 

Neither is sure how much time passes. 

Without any warning, a redhead girl opens the compartment door and abruptly hurls herself into the seat next to James. They both watch her, hands freezing where they are in the air. 

She doesn’t spare them a glance. Instead, she moves as far away from them as she can and swipes the heel of her hand across her cheek. It’s like they aren’t even there.

James and Sirius exchange a glance that effectively communicates the unspoken question: What’s up with her?

Staring at the back of someone’s head isn’t very interesting, so Sirius shrugs and goes back to piecing together sentences and picking up new signs. If the girl isn’t paying attention to them, they should be able to continue how they were. 

Soon, they’re making each other laugh like it’s a contest. James sticks his tongue out and crosses his eyes along with the sign for ‘snake’ as a suggestion of how they can refer to Slytherin.

The door opens again, but they hardly glance at the new arrival. He ignores them as well, obviously on a mission, and goes straight to the girl by the window, sitting across from her and leaning forward to have a low conversation. 

James brushes them off and pokes Sirius’ knee to get his attention.

Sirius doesn’t react. Something in the conversation by the window tugs Sirius away, distracted. His eyes drift over to the other people in the compartment and narrow at something the boy says. James glances over at them and then taps Sirius with the toe of his shoe.

“What?”

Sirius imitates his sign from before the other boy arrived. “They want to be in Slytherin.”

James scoffs and assesses the newest arrival, noting the way his hair hangs against his sallow skin. “Slytherin? Who wants to be in Slytherin?” He looks to Sirius. The confidence of having a new friend makes him speak louder. “I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

For the first time since they’ve properly introduced themselves, Sirius’ face falls. “My whole family has been in Slytherin.”

James’ eyes widen, but he’s not willing to give up his first friend yet. He wants them back to a minute or so before, when they were laughing. “I thought you seemed all right!”

Sirius rewards him with a grin that changes his entire disposition. This is a boy who can run circles around others and come back for more. “Maybe I’ll break the tradition.” He leans back in his seat and tries out some of the new signs he’s learned while also speaking out loud. “Where are you heading, if you’ve got the choice?”

James doesn’t hesitate. He lifts an invisible sword and swipes at an imaginary foe. “‘Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!’” he answers, making the sign for _lion_. He taps his fingers together. “Like my dad.” Remembering dozens of his dad’s stories of his school house in a rush, James beams. 

As soon as he’s done, Sirius turns to glare at the greasy-haired boy by the window. James doesn’t need to hear to read the boy’s expression. “Got a problem with that?” he asks, challenging the prat’s sneer.

“No,” the boy replies. It’s hard to understand what he says, but James recognizes that kind of self-righteous smirk. “If you’d rather be brawny than brainy -”

“Where’re you hoping to go,” Sirius interrupts, “seeing as you’re neither?” Without knowing the signs to say everything he wants, Sirius knocks the side of his head. _Idiot._

James throws his head back to laugh and gives his friend an exaggerated bow of appreciation. 

The girl finally stirs from her slumped position against the window and eyes them both. She’s starting to get red in the face and clearly tries to put a fair amount of venom into her glare. 

Grinning, James ruffles his hair in the back and lets her look.

“Come on, Severus, let’s find another compartment.” Her lips move more clearly, but she doesn’t pause to make sure he understands. The girl stands and swoops past them, nose in the air. James lets her pass but sticks his foot out in front of the boy.

“See ya, Snivellus!” Sirius calls out of the open door, though he cups a hand over his mouth to be heard. James fidgets when he can’t see what he’s saying. After a few seconds, Sirius turns back and closes the door with a flourish. When he sits down again, he slowly spells out the new nickname for the other boy. He throws himself back on his seat. “What a prick.”

James grins and relaxes in his own seat. “You haven’t asked how to sign that yet.” He could get used to the freedom of not checking everything with his parents. “Want to learn some swears?”

Sirius inclines his head, inviting James to teach him all of the words they’ll want to use behind closed doors. He nods and smiles at them. Without knowing this boy for a long time, James can see that some of the spark from earlier is missing. He picks things up after an extra few seconds and looks almost delayed, like something is holding him back.

James hesitates before letting the concern show in his face. “What’s wrong?”

After a second, Sirius looks at James and his face falls like it did when he mentioned his family’s house. “Think I’ll be in Slytherin?”

James recoils and shakes his head, not willing to entertain the thought. “No,” he signs shortly, not giving Sirius the chance to ponder it anymore. “You’ll be in Gryffindor,” he assures him. “With me.”

This comforts Sirius, who nods slowly and sits back in his seat. He’s quiet for a few moments, but James lets him have his space until the trolley stops at their compartment door. The lure of chocolate frogs and licorice wands pulls them both out of the silence and into the important task of selecting treats for the rest of the ride. 

The coins in James’ bag buy enough candy to give them a sugar-coma that lasts for the rest of the journey.

The train announces its arrival with a long whistle and trail of smoke. The boys hastily pull their robes over their clothes, since they threw them haphazardly across the seats at some point. James frees his head in time to catch the sign for the station outside of their window.

“Leave your trunks on the train!” someone calls from the platform, which Sirius can hear through the slightly propped window. He sticks his head out to see what’s happening. “First years, this way!” a voice directs. 

Sirius pulls his head back in, points to the trunks, and clumsily signs the message to James.

When they open the door, it looks like every student is moving at once. Bodies in an assortment of red, green, yellow, and blue shuffle past each other to get where they need to go. James nods to Sirius to encourage him to go on and keeps sight of him in the crowd. They step onto the platform, one right after the other, and allow themselves to be herded with the rest of the first years.

A man, several feet taller and wider than them, stands with a lantern in his outstretched hand. “First years!” he yells, catching the attention of a few stranglers. “All in?” He surveys the assembled students without houses indicated on their robes as if they’ll answer, though no one speaks. They look around nervously and pull their robes close, too timid to do anything else.

“This way!” the man calls, jerking the lantern and throwing the light across their faces. He guides them away from the flow of returning students and down the other side of the platform. 

“Hagrid,” Sirius mouths to James as they walk, specifically waiting until they’re under the glow of a light to make sure he can see him. “My mother talks about him.”

“What does she say?”

Sirius shakes his head. “Horrible stuff - probably all lies.” 

He doesn’t get a chance to ask more, because the people in front of them stop suddenly. James looks away from Sirius just in time to keep himself from bumping into the next student. “Four to a boat!” Hagrid directs. Everyone clings to anyone they met on the train and clamors into the boats noisily.

James and Sirius, of course, move to claim a boat of their own. James climbs into the boat and stretches his legs across the length of it. He’s still trying to recover from the long train ride. Sirius comes into the boat after him and shoves James’ feet away to take that seat.

Quickly, another boy with dusty hair joins them. Without a word, he gets in the boat and makes himself small by hunching his shoulders. He looks across the lake instead of at either of them.

They can’t allow that. 

Sirius pokes the boy’s arm, and James gives a big wave. The boat lurches into motion. Sirius introduces them both while the boy looks between them several times before giving his own name. “Remus Lupin,” he says, so quietly that Sirius has to ask him to repeat it.

“Nice to meet you,” James signs slowly. Remus looks like a deer they could scare away, even though they’re on a small boat somewhere in the middle of the lake.

Something in Remus’ expression eases. He copies James’ signs, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders. “My gran,” he explains, already knowing some of the basics. “She lost her hearing a couple years ago, but she only uses a few signs.”

“Brilliant,” James answers. He puts up both hands and lets a grin chase away any hints of shyness.

The three boys pick up the conversation every time the moon or lanterns hung on the front of the boats give them enough light to see moving hands. They fall over each other to get out on the other side and scramble up the rocks to join the rest of their classmates. Hagrid guides them underneath the castle and the door swings open before he can knock. 

Someone is standing in the doorway. She takes a step out, so Hagrid and the stern looking woman can exchange a few words. It’s too dark for James to see what they’re saying, but this is a face James recognizes.

Afternoon teas and quiet discussions in the seating room come to mind. They always made him squirm, since James has never been one to sit still for long. When he sees her, he thinks of being told to wear his nice sweater. He thinks of stirring extra milk into his tea and sneaking an extra biscuit, since she always brought his favorite chocolate ones under her cloak.

When she sees him, she might remember a crooked smile. She might also remember that time he mixed salt into the sugar because his mum cancelled Quidditch practice for tea.

He won’t worry about that at the moment.

Professor McGonagall has been a friend of his mother’s for as long as he can remember. James knew her as Minerva for several years. He didn’t even know about her affiliation with Hogwarts until his mother decided he was old enough to use Professor as her name instead. 

He wonders how many times they have talked about him - about his needs, as his mother would call them - without his knowledge. He doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Chest filling with the pride of knowing something that others don’t, James goes onto his toes and waves widely to her.

Her eyes rove over the assortment of students, catching on the boy with messy hair who tries to make himself seen. James is willing to tell himself that she thinks about smiling. He could swear that the corner of her mouth twitches. “I’ll take them from here.” This time, she stays facing James, so he can understand her words.

Dutifully, they follow, as if none of them are willing to step out of line - yet. Rather than taking them from the Entrance Hall to the Great Hall, where James knows the rest of the school must be, Professor McGonagall takes them to a small, empty room. 

Without pause, she fills them in on the four Hogwarts houses - in case someone hasn’t heard and made their decision yet - with Sirius nudging James’ side and attempting to sign what he can. It’s hard to see her lips properly from so far away and over the heads of dozens of other kids, so James nods gratefully. Luckily, he knows most of this already.

She leaves them alone, but there’s nothing for James to hear. 

Everyone shifts on their feet, eyes darting around, no one speaking. He sees the girl and boy from the train on the other side of the room, pressed close together with their shoulders touching. The girl is pale under her shock of red hair, determinedly looking at the stone wall.

When the door opens to let them into the Great Hall, the whole room takes a collective breath that no one seemed to know they were holding. They’re shepherded to the front with their backs to four long tables worth of people. They stand facing a single stool and drooping hat. 

The brim reveals what looks like a rip. It moves up and down like a person’s lips, but it’s impossible to read. James watches it, as enraptured as everyone else standing with him, but only claps after he notices that it’s what everyone else is doing. 

“It’s a song,” Sirius signs, hands by his waist to avoid attracting attention. 

Before James can reply, Professor McGonagall unrolls some parchment and announces something to the Hall. It prompts a girl on their left to jump and take a few hurried steps. She sits, McGonagall drops the Hat on her head, the brim opens again, and everyone claps - especially one of the tables in the middle.

James turns to find the most enthusiastic bunch. Judging by color on the robes of the few standing students and more forceful clappers, their first classmate must be a Ravenclaw.

He jerks his gaze away from the table when he realizes Sirius has disappeared from beside him. Now, his friend is the one on the stool, and the Hat spends more time on his head. 

_Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor,_ James chants in his mind, willing it to be so.

The shaking from the table at the end confirms his hopes. James whoops along with them and flashes Sirius a thumbs up as he goes to join what will, what has to be, _his_ table.

The girl from the train is also sorted into Gryffindor. James sees the lanky-haired boy’s shoulders drop out of the corner of his eye and makes a point to clap more intentionally. 

By the time Remus gets to the stool, James is trying to guess how many people could be between L and P in the alphabet. 

After what feels like several eternities, someone jabs him hard in the back. He spins to find them, but someone else in the crowd points accusingly to the front of the Great Hall.

James looks up at Professor McGonagall and sees her eyes soften. “Potter, James,” she repeats, spelling the name with her hands.

A ripple goes through the students still waiting for their turn, but James ignores it.

He’s instantly grateful for his overprotective mother who thought to get him an ally at school. 

Many things can be said of James Potter, but no one can say that he lets people see him afraid. He pushes his shoulders back and saunters up to the stool. “Professor,” he signs to McGonagall with a wink before taking his seat and letting her cover his face with the over-large hat.

The Sorting Hat doesn’t have a chance to try whispering in his ear, to test if it has a way of communicating with him. It barely touches his wild hair before he can feel movement above him. A rip opens on the brim like it has for the rest of the new first years. 

Promptly, Professor McGonagall pulls it off his head, bringing the rest of the Great Hall into focus. He only has eyes for the lion banners covered in scarlet and gold. 

He stands on solid legs for an eleven-year-old, brimming with the confidence and certainty of youth. Even if he can’t hear the Hat’s cry echo through the hall, even if it didn’t try to mumble a secret into his brain, the soft touch on his shoulder isn’t needed to guide him. 

James knows where he belongs. 

With the lions, in his father’s house.

Now _his_ house.

When James, thrilled and bursting at the seams, slides into the seat next to Sirius, his already-determined partner in mischief, everything is right in his world. Sirius _is_ different from the rest of his family. Their places next to each other at the table prove it. He’s all right - _more_ than all right, because they’re best friends. 

His Hogwarts journey has already started with a new best friend - plus another from the boats - and placement into the correct house. A house is like a family, his father told him, so rather than paying attention to the last of the sortings, James looks around at the people he will be spending the most time with while at school.

During a quick survey of the rest of the table, he notices the girl from the train meet his gaze for a moment, recognize him, and pointedly turn away. 

It doesn’t matter. 

He isn’t going to waste his first night in the castle worrying about what some girl thinks of him. He has Sirius, and they’ll catch up with Remus once they have a chance. Soon enough, they’ll have their own group of friends. 

If her friends are the type who want to be in Slytherin and try to convince her of the same thing, James isn’t sure he even _wants_ to be counted in that number. 

Besides, there’s more important things, like the Welcome Feast.

Once Headmaster Dumbledore speaks and the food appears, he takes a generous serving of chicken and potatoes. His parents told him enough stories about dinners in the Great Hall to make him not waste any time in finding out what is true for himself. He’s never had to skip a meal, but he could get used to this kind of bounty and selection. 

Tonight, he doesn’t have to pretend to eat his green beans. 

With a happily full plate, James pokes Sirius to continue their stream of topics that only relate in the language of best friends. Sign language, he has always thought, is excellent at meals, because no one has to wait to finish chewing to continue the conversation.

In the middle of a winding discussion about brooms, he feels a small tap on his shoulder. It pulls him away from Sirius continuing to mix up the signs for _keeper_ and _seeker_. Turning, James sees the girl from the train, now intently paying attention to him and looking at his hands with a crease between her eyebrows. 

She has sparkling green eyes, he can’t help but notice. The kind that makes him search his mind for something to compare them to when they reflect light from the candles over their heads. It’s much easier to see them when she’s so close and not rubbing them to pretend she hasn’t been crying.

Swallowing too much food at once, James puts his hands on his lap self consciously. 

Hesitantly, she lifts her hand, considering. It freezes in mid-air for a few seconds before she finishes the movement and touches two fingers by her ear. He sees the word form on her lips a half-second later. “Deaf?”

Maybe once she’s away from the influence of that now-Slytherin git, she isn’t so bad. The possibility makes his stomach flip hopefully.

“Yes,” he says aloud, nodding. He signs back quickly, “Do you know sign language?” 

The girl shakes her head and makes a small gesture with her hand. “Not really,” he manages to lip-read. She shrugs one shoulder. “But I always wanted to learn. My mum and I bonded over _The Miracle Worker_.”

He thinks over what she said for a second to make sure he didn’t read something wrong. Even with all the words in place, it doesn’t make sense to him. “What?”

“The movie about Helen Keller,” she answers, her expression torn between confusion and amusement.

“Who?”

Amusement starts to win. “A famous muggle,” she says, “who was deaf and blind and did amazing things.”

That makes him pause. He’s never known anyone - hasn’t even known _of_ anyone - who is deaf. Some of his parents’ old friends like to shout because they’re starting to lose their hearing, but it’s not the same thing. He probably knows every adult in wizarding Britain who knows sign language.

But this girl knows a name, and that’s something.

She stormed out of the compartment earlier and made a point of looking away from him at the beginning of dinner, but that can be forgiven. It was almost a relief, really, to be treated like any other person who annoyed her and not coddled because she thinks there’s something wrong with him. 

Wizards view nearly everything as a problem for magic to fix. Other people might view _him_ that way, but James has never felt broken. He doesn’t need to be wound like an old-fashion toy and programmed to do what everyone else does. 

This is a starting point in their lives. The banners above their heads show that they’re going to have to deal with each other, one way or another, for the next few years. 

“I could teach you,” he offers, using both of his pointer fingers to make the sign. He makes a conscious effort to slow down and mouth the words so she can understand him.

James catches her glancing toward the table at the other end of the hall, where her friend has found his place in his desired house. He bites back the temptation to make a barbed comment. They’re both Gryffindors, James tells himself, so she can’t be as bad as her friend.

She looks back at him, conflicted. “It’s okay.” She lifts a hand and moves it away from her face in a jerky, unpracticed movement. “Thanks.”

Shrugging, trying not to feel a little disappointed, he ruffles his hair uncertainly and returns to his meal, missing some of his appetite. There’s no reason to worry, he thinks. He has Sirius and Remus and time.

After everyone is able to eat too much and settle into easy conversation, their plates clear and dessert replaces the savory main course. This causes a flurry of reactions from the whole table as people lean across each other to grab their favorite things. 

In the midst of it all, a thing he doesn’t recognize pokes him in the arm. He looks over to see the same girl from before, holding a thin, black stick that is too small to be a wand. She clicks a button on the top, writes something on a small piece of white paper, and slides it across the table to him. 

Something tells him that forgetting about this girl is going to be impossible.

The lines are different from the strokes of a quill, but this is a language they share. _Lily Evans_ , he reads before the girl - Lily, apparently - passes him whatever she used to write. Attempting to hide his confusion, he clicks the button on the top like she did. He tries to answer her note with his own name, but he makes a face when it doesn’t write anything. 

Feeling her laugh beside him, James looks up. “It’s a pen,” she explains. She takes the writing tool from his hand, clicks it _again_ , and sets the tip on the paper, tilting it his way for him to take from her.

It must be made by muggles, since he’s never seen anything like it. He’s always been raised with magic, but it doesn’t look like that’s the case for her. Lily knows about a whole world he’s barely touched, and he has a million questions. He keeps them inside, focusing on what he needs to do now. 

_James Potter_ , he writes back, determinedly looking at the paper and not back up at Lily Evans. He hopes his hair hides where he can feel the tips of his ears are turning red. 

The rest of dinner passes without incident, unless Sirius nearly spitting out his pumpkin juice counts. 

When students start to lean heavily against their elbows and eyelids droop, James notices a girl with brown hair and fringe waving at the end of the table. “Gryffindor first years! With me!”

“P-r-e-f-e-c-t,” Sirius fingerspells to James, which draws his attention to the badge pinned to her robes. He responds by tapping his fingers on his arm in the sign for _badge_. It can work as their shorthand, since he plans on getting into enough trouble to need to learn how to signal the arrival of enforcers. 

Someone bumps against James’ shoulder, and he turns to find Remus smiling sheepishly. “I guess we follow the prefect to the common room?”

James gives him a mock salute and stands, Sirius following automatically. 

“Hello, everyone!” the girl calls with the same kind of smile as store clerks and inspiring speakers. Like a person who has been told to be friendly and tries their best to maintain it, even when someone tries to push them to their limit. “I’m Sarah, one of your prefects. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the way to Gryffindor Tower.”

She turns on her heel and marches out of the hall, counting on the group of new Gryffindors to follow after her. They scurry to keep up, though several people stop in the middle of a hallway to tilt their heads back and watch portraits try to start conversations with them.

In one painting, a group of monks watch the parade of students with silent interest. They wave, expressions solemn. Unlike the other figures in the other portraits, who call out to the students, one monk points to his mouth to explain their vow of silence.

James waves as he passes and decides he likes them.

Sarah leads them up a few staircases and stops in front of the largest painting they’ve seen yet. While facing the frame, she must say something, because the lady in a pink dress adjusts her shoulders and smugly replies, but James can’t catch any of it. 

Feeling emboldened by already having friends and wanting to make his presence known, James weaves through his housemates to stand behind Sarah and tap her shoulder. 

She turns to see him pointing to his ear and instantly colors. “Oh!” Sarah says, scrunching her nose. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…” 

James waves her away, assuring her that she doesn’t have to worry. 

She takes special care to face all of them this time, quickly learning from her mistake. “There’s a password to get inside,” Sarah explains. “It changes every so often, so watch the board for updates.”

After a rippling shuffle through the crowd, James knows someone said something, because everyone else turns to see who spoke. 

He looks over his shoulder to see Remus. He must have been the one to speak. James looks back at Sarah for a response.

Sarah gestures to the portrait, so James follows to see the woman in the frame straighten her shoulders importantly. “Of course not,” the portrait lady answers. “All forms of the password are accepted.” She lifts both hands in a sign James knows well, because it’s been all he can think about since he got his long-anticipated letter a few weeks ago.

“Magic!” Sarah says for the benefit of everyone else, prompting the portrait to swing open. It reveals a cozy room, filled with squishy armchairs and a roaring fire behind the grate. 

James winks to the portrait lady as he passes into the common room. 

Sirius puts him in a weak headlock, just strong enough to solidify their bond, and throws an arm over Remus’ shoulders. They clamor up the boys’ staircase as a six-legged beast and collapse into their beds, claiming the spaces that will be theirs for the next seven years.

They’re going to rule Gryffindor - and Hogwarts - together. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @women-inthe-sequel!


End file.
